


In All Its Forms

by alaynes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captivity, Consent Issues, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynes/pseuds/alaynes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of AUs featuring Tywin and Sansa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes - Hunger Games AU

Tywin had never been one to be too concerned about his entrants. There hadn't been a single victor from their district in years, and he didn't expect this year to be any different.

There had been little hope for them from the beginning, with a career from one, two from two, and one from four. The boy, Samwell something or the other, had had nothing to his advantage apart from his weight; he was able enough to lift and throw. That was the end of his usefulness, and it became his biggest disadvantage. Easy to spot, and slow moving. The forest landscape may have been more useful had they been given a wide range, somewhere he could hide. As was, the arena was small, and they found him easily.

The girl, Sansa Stark, had had some more advantage. She was tall, slight, well-built. She could hide well, and she could be as quiet as she liked. Her big doe-eyes had helped as well, buying sympathy votes from the Capitol fools who believed her as big a fool as any of them. Tywin scoffed at them all when they were near none of the other entrants; it would be no good for any of them to realise she was surprisingly clever for all she pretended to be an idiot. But Sansa wanted to hold on to her _morals_ ; she wouldn't _kill_ unless she absolutely had to, and had no knowledge of any sort of weaponry. She had gotten lucky with her competitors; fools, all, they'd killed each other on the first day. Surprising. Down to fourteen on the first day itself. Sansa listened to him. She found water and hid, only emerging from her hiding place to eat the plentiful food in the forest.

The girl from one who'd seemed so likely to win lost when the girl from twelve walked out of a fucking fire and killed her. That girl, the next expected victor, killed by someone from seven. The boy from three, drowned. The one from eleven who looked a fighter was injured in a fight with a morphling, and died. The one from five, who'd seemed like he'd taken an interest in Sansa, killed by a girl from two.

Every morning when the cameras showed her, in the same place, hiding in a thick cluster of trees, he breathed a sigh of relief. Not for his district. For Sansa. He'd made mistakes with her.

The first time he'd made a mistake like this had been only three years after his own victory, another girl from his district, sixteen, with blonde hair bright enough to burn out the sun itself. She shone just as much as any of the golden children from District 1, and she captivated everyone. The Capitol. The sponsors. _Him_. Her games had been the only one he'd really cared for, save his own. None of the others mattered. He'd fought with his life then, like it had been him in the arena all over again, fought for sponsors and fought to make sure that whatever Joanna had needed, she had. And they'd given it to him. The things he'd done, he would have done for her. She'd been his first victor, and his last.

They said if you survived the games, you could survive anything. In the end, she died in childbirth.

(An accident, because none of them would give a child to the Capitol, one more future entrant in the games, and child of two victors, too. They'd destroy their child the way they'd destroyed them. President Targaryen found out before they could kill it, and he'd insisted _politely_ they see the pregnancy through. President Targaryen had never liked Tywin. Even today he felt he must have been responsible somehow for Jo's death.)

If Sansa didn't win these games, he'd be defeated. It was a mistake, it was always a mistake to _care_ for your entrants. They were lambs going to slaughter. You didn't care for someone you were sending to their death. Tywin cared for Sansa. _Mistake_. _Fool_. He couldn't expect her to survive the Careers; three others leaving her. A boy from four who seemed half-mad; a child from two who was surprisingly agile and seemed skilled with any weapon she could get her hands on; and a large boy with the build and strength of a bull, also from two. All three careers, and two of three more skilled than she was. If she could live past the decided death of the madman from four, she wouldn't make it past two pair from the second district.

And Tywin had cared for no one since Joanna. He had told himself he wouldn't make that mistake again.

The boy from four bludgeoned himself. Both the careers from two went looking for Sansa. He told himself he had no reason to believe she would make it. There was no reason for him to even try anymore. It would be one or the other from district two; one more year a career would win. He shouldn't be surprised. He definitely shouldn't be upset.

(He went to the sponsors and asked like it was his life on the line. He stayed up as far as he could to make sure she was alive when the canons showed those who'd died that night. Every morning when they showed her face, he felt like he'd been given air again, if only for an hour.

Even he made mistakes.)


	2. Song - 20's AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20's AU. Sansa is a singer who has caught Tywin's eye.

Tywin frequented the speakeasy on the Street of the Sisters for one reason only.

That wasn't strictly true. He had business that was best conducted some place no one would identify him, and the Street of the Sisters was such a place. Tywin's name was best kept secret, even here, but his face would be noticed immediately anywhere else. Here, the only one who knew him would be Emmon, and the only one who knew Emmon would be him. Secrecy was paramount in this. If anyone found out, anyone at all, they'd have to end their plans immediately.

But secrecy wasn't what brought The Great Lion to the same speakeasy every Friday. There were plenty of places he could find that would ensure the same discretion that this one did. Tywin _should_ find somewhere else to go. But week after week he kept coming back. And he knew why.

The girl. Bright red hair, blue eyes, fair. She stuck out like a sore thumb in the low lighting and dark crowd. She was always, oddly enough, made up less than any of the other singers, dressed more modestly. _Modesty_. Modesty had no place in a joint like this, and yet she managed to maintain hers. He'd seen how men reacted when she walked out onto the little stage, when she sang; they lusted for her. Each and every one. He wasn't alone in this, but perhaps he was the only one who recognised her. This wasn't just some tramp who sang at bars for cash, this was the daughter of his biggest rival. _Sansa Stark_. She had degraded herself to the Guild, and Tywin had no idea for what. His first assumption was that this was some plot, Eddard Stark using his daughter as a spy to find information. But the girl never approached him, never gave him more than a cursory glance as she sang. And Eddard Stark liked to think himself honourable (like anyone was honourable in this day and age); he wasn't likely to send his young adult daughter somewhere like this to spy on him.

"That's alright, Tywin, but the old man won't agree unless there's enough jack." He clenched his teeth and ignored the voice at the back of his mind telling him to throttle the man who felt comfortable enough to call him Tywin. _No one_ but his siblings called him Tywin, not even his oldest acquaintances. Emmon Frey had married his sister because his father had willed it, but he didn't deserve to be husband of a Lannister. Definitely not Genna's. Genna, thankfully, was clever enough for the both of them. If only he could make this deal with her and avoid speaking to any children of Walder Frey at all.

"There will be. You know the deal; if your father can make sure it's done, he'll get what he wants." He said, and Emmon relaxed, turning away from him. The man looked even more irritating now than he had earlier.

"D'you think — " he started. Tywin's irritation peaked. On the stage, Miss Stark's eyes made their way back to his table.

"Leave." He said, giving Emmon his mightiest glare. This was not a brotherly bonding session, it was a business deal. A contract. There was no reason for him to stay once the discussion was over. He seemed to understand this and nodded, scurrying away like the rat he was. Tywin looked at his drink and wiped his hands on the jacket of his suit. He should leave as well.

He looked at Sansa Stark.

Tywin stayed. He must be more foolish than he believed, because he sat there at their table, barely touching his liquor, just watching the girl. _He was older than her damn father_. She was just a young adult, only a little better than a child. She was attractive, yes, but that should not be enough to sway him like this. He wasn't some boy easily distracted by the first pair of legs he saw; he had better control than that. He should go. (He wasn't leaving.)

She retreated into the back where the dressing rooms were, nearly an hour later. Tywin clenched his fist, annoyed; he'd stayed too long. Throwing some money on the table, he stood to make his exit. Outside, he breathed in the smell of the Landing, as always, not at all fresh or clean. He shot a look at the joint once again — and stopped short. There she was, Sansa Stark, leaving the building, now in a dress that suited her far more than the glittering flapper dresses she wore when singing. "I've got to mooch, Marge!" She was calling in to, he assumed, one of the other girls as she walked out, hand clasped tightly on a purse. Her voice was different than it was when she sang, but no less bright.

She turned around and stopped, looking at him with the wide eyes of a child and a little gasp. "Oh." She whispered, a little breath leaving her, her mouth in an attractive pout. She was just as captivating outside the bright light of the speakeasy.

"Miss Stark." He said, glaring at her.

"You know my name." She said, frowning right back. No one he'd met in years had dared to frown back at him, not even his own children. And there she was, looking him in the eye with a frown. _Disapproving._ Of him. Who did she think she was? "I've seen you, you know. Inside. You're always there with your friend, every Friday, like clockwork. You keep looking at me, and now you know my name, too. Who are you?" He clenched his jaw and looked away. It didn't matter. This girl didn't even know who he was, who Emmon was. She wasn't likely to go telling her father he was making a deal with Walder Frey.

"Tywin Lannister." He told her, and her eyes widened a little more.

"I've heard of you. You're the head of the Lannisters. You're a mobster." _Mobster_. It was a foul word. She frowned, but this time not at him, thinking of something. When she looked up at him, she looked less scared than she had right to be. "Be on the level now, what do you want with me?"

This was foolish. He was wasting his time, he didn't need this. "Nothing." He said, and turned to leave.

"Wait."

He froze. He hadn't even taken a step. She knew who he was now, and the way she'd been looking at him earlier — he'd pounce on her like an animal if she didn't stop. Tywin should have more control than this. It had been years since he'd lost his cool the way he was doing now. She knew he was a mobster. _What do you want with me_ , she asked. She ought to be terrified.

_Wait?_

"You're stuck on me, aren't you? You've got a crush on me." He turned around, looking at her with disbelief. She was smiling now, teasing him. No one had dared to do that, either, not since his wife. He scoffed. A crush, indeed. Did he look like a child?

"Goodbye, Miss Stark." He said with a tone of finality, and turned to leave. Damn her.

"Look," she called after him, and, despite himself, he found himself stopping, listening. _What had she done to him_? "I've got a couple free hours next Sunday before I have to get to the juice joint, so maybe we could go out, have some coffee?" A coffee? With her? What a ridiculous notion. "You could meet me here." He turned to look at her, appraising her again. Maybe she wasn't the innocent girl she seemed to be. All the same, she was giving him a beatific smile, and her hand was pushing back her long red hair from her face, like she was embarrassed. He looked into her eyes with a frown; she smiled back at him.

"Alright." He said.

-

"It's settled." Emmon said. "It'll be done this Thursday." Tywin nodded, not feeling as relieved as he should be by this. He shot a look at Sansa, her rouge — no, _lipstick_ , still slightly smudged. Not enough to be noticable, no, but he knew what to look for. The remaining of the bright red that covered her lips was on the back of his handkerchief, tucked into his suit.

"You have to go, and so do I." He'd said, pushed against the wall next to the back door to the joint (not something he'd let her do ordinarily, but tonight was different) but she'd only kissed him again one last time. It was possibly the last time ever. He'd do his best not to think of that.

"Why'd you have to be such a wet blanket?" She'd asked, teasing, then laughed and waved him goodbye as she hurried into the dressing room. He'd straightened his suit, wiped his mouth and come in here, looking like he'd just come there straight from work. No one else would ever know.

"Good." He told Emmon now, bringing his attention back to the present. Sansa was, had to be, history. In less than a week, Robb Stark and his little wife would be dead.

Across the speakeasy, Sansa caught his eye, and smiled through her song. Tywin turned his eyes away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really unsure about this but oh well.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and, of course, feedback is always welcome!


	3. Victory - Pirates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length of this one got away from me a bit. Whoops.

Sansa had never been more pleased than when she'd seen the Captain of the _Lioness_ ' eyes widen in shock, his jaw slacken at the sight in front of his eyes. It was honestly one of the most satisfying moments of her life; she could only be happier if she could only see the remaining Lannisters with the same look on their faces. _One day_ , she swore, she would. But for now, seeing Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Hand of the King in a state of shock and, yes, _fear_ ; that was enough.

For now.

Gods, things had changed. It was only a few moons ago that seeing any Lannister's face would send her cowering, fighting just to keep calm, not show that she was _so_ frightened of what they could and would do to her. A captive in King's Landing had no control over anything at all, not even to herself. Escaping, coming onto this ship; it was possibly the least likely yet the best thing that had happened to her. It felt even better than being told for the first time, when she was just a child and knew nothing, that she was to marry Prince Joffrey one day. (It almost hurt to think of how happy she'd been then. But now she had the ship. Other things didn't matter.)

"You look happy, sweet girl." She hears Margaery's voice behind her, and Sansa laughs (something she does far more often now than she used to) and turns to face her, giving her a small courtly courtesy. "You should look like that more often." She gave a wide smile to Margaery. For the first few days on the ship, she'd been terrified of most things, just the way she'd been in the first few days after she'd officially become a captive of the crown.

She'd been afraid of what would happen if she displeased Dany; would they send her back? Or would they send her overboard? She didn't know what was worse. She'd been afraid of Ser Barristan Selmy, who'd been a member of the Kingsguard once; surely he was spying for the crown? Why would he leave the Kingsguard to become a... pirate? All she'd ever heard of Ser Barristan had said that he was a good fighter, and bold, and a good man as well. Honourable, and loyal to the crown. Why would he have joined a pirate ship if he weren't spying? And, of course, she'd been afraid of Dany's pets.

Now, she was rather happy about said pets. They were terrifying, yes, but they were almost friendly to those they were accustomed to — that now included her — and they were as obedient as children to Dany herself. Now Sansa almost loved the dragons the way she loved everyone else on this ship.

"Sansa, Margaery!" She heard Dany's tinkling voice calling, and moved towards her cabin with Margaery. Inside, they found Brienne seated on one of the hard chairs, looking slightly uncomfortable; Ser Barristan standing next to Dany, looking over a map. Arya looked unusually gleeful. She smiled at Arya and Brienne before turning to face Dany, looking down at the map. She'd made a little mark where Sansa assumed they were now; moving North again, Sansa assumed, as the last place they had been that she remembered was just south of where Sunspear was marked. Now they were near the opening to the Sea of Dorne. Likely they would go east from here; it was dangerous for them to land at any port in Westeros, even if it was Dorne.

"We need to find out why they were tracking us." Ser Barristan was telling Dany, and Sansa frowned; following them? They'd seen the _Lioness_ for the first time only this morning. For days before the sea had been clear, with water every way as far as her eye could see, no sign of land or any other ships. She looked at Margaery, but she seemed equally unsure. Ser Barristan seemed to notice her confusion, and continued, "The _Lioness_ expected another ship. She's a war galley, and not on a trade route of any sort. When I looked into the ship, the only provisions they had were for the crew on board, nothing to trade. She was looking for something, likely us."

That was surprising. For all the moons since Sansa had been on board, there had been few conflicts with other ships, and no sign that the crown had any idea they even existed. At best they'd found some trade ships to plunder, a few of which gave up their goods without trouble. They'd come across a few other pirate ships. Most of them they'd sank without much trouble (the dragons helped make them successful more often than not), but one large war galley they'd simply passed by. The Captain, Salladhor Saan she believed his name was, had only laughed and told Dany that he was simply an honest trader, and she could take his goods if she liked. In the end they'd traded wine from Lys for Myrish silk, and _Bird of Thousand Colors_ had sailed away.

"It's not the first time the crown has attempted to stop us." Dany said. "Before you joined us, Sansa, two war galleys from King's Landing had found us. One we evaded, and the other we sank. It's not surprising they'd send another to find us."

"You're forgetting that small one that found us near Dragonstone." Arya added, but Ser Barristan shook his head.

"That was sent by Lord Stannis, likely not on the King's orders." Turning back to the map, he frowned. "I knew they'd send someone to capture us soon enough, but send Tywin Lannister? He's one of the finest commanders they have, and the Seven Kingdoms are at war. Why send him to sink a pirate ship?"

"One of us will have to find out." Margaery said. Sansa licked her lips; she wanted to go.

Already Brienne was standing, looking mildly irritated because of the unnatural stooping posture she had to hold in the low cabin. Brienne would go, if only to save the rest of them some trouble. Dany wouldn't go because she tended to get angry sometimes, get impulsive. Margaery had the skill to get information, but her _skills_ wouldn't be as effective on Lord Tywin, that even Sansa knew. Arya would get irritated after the first two attempts. Melisandre wouldn't do it, she wouldn't even agree. Interrogation wasn't what she did; at best, she'd look into his eyes and tell them a little or try to find out more in her fires, but little else. Brienne — she would do it well; she could be patient, all of them knew that. But Sansa wanted to do it. For so long she'd been less useful than most of them, even Arya, who was younger than her.

And this was a Lannister. The Lannisters had wrong all of them, she knew, but somehow she felt as though she hated them most, more than even Dany or Arya. She wanted to go.

"I'll do it." She said, before Brienne could speak. All of them turned to her, looking concerned.

"Sansa, are you sure —" Margaery started, but Sansa nodded. She was determined; this one would be hers. She would get the information from him as soon as possible. She could be patient and she could be (no matter what stupid Joffrey and Queen Cersei had said so many times) clever, and she could be cunning, too. She just had to try.

-

"Aren't you the Stark girl?" Lord Tywin asked as soon as she had placed the food on the ground near his feet. The hold was small; so small that she had to stoop a little, and she was certain Lord Tywin would not be able to stand at all without bending at the waist. His hands were chained to the wall, but he had enough movement that he would be able to reach the plate. In the dark of the hold, he looked older than he had outside, standing.

"I am. Why were you following us?" She asked, seating herself on a barrel.

"Eddard Stark's daughter, yes?" He asked, and she clenched her jaw at the mention of her father. "How did they find you? Cersei told me she had you within the Keep at all times." Sansa grit her teeth together at the mention of his daughter.

"I escaped. Why was your ship tracking us?" She repeated, glaring at him.

"Once more Cersei proves more foolish than she would have anyone believe. I don't know what I was to expect. _You escaped_. A girl of not four-and-ten, and she escapes the guard the Queen places on her. Who helped you? The other _little girls_ on this ship playing at being pirates?" She pursed her lips to hide her smile at his insulting Cersei, then frowned as he insulted them as well. _Little girls_? They were pirates; they'd defeated his ship. They'd captured the Great Lion of Casterly Rock, and _little girls_?

"If you say so, my Lord. We're only little girls, what would we know of being pirates or sinking the crown's war galleys?" She said, adopting one of Dany's ways of speaking. Dany did this when they faced anyone who underestimated her or treated her, or any of them here on _Meraxes_ like a whore. _Suck my cock, and have your girls pleasure my crew, and we'll let you go._ The captain had said, while on _their_ ship, talking to another captain who deserved as much, or more, respect as he did. _I'm only a little girl and know little of being a pirate_ , Dany had said (for a second Sansa had wondered if she was going to _agree_ ), then proceeded to have Viserion burn him to a crisp.

When Dany did it, it inspired amusement in the captains, then fear when the dragons were brought to face them. When Sansa did the same thing, it felt odd and wrong on her tongue, as though the words did not quite fit there. Lord Tywin seemed to sense her hesitation, as he simply glared at her with his cold eyes, giving her no response. Even in the dark, he could inspire fear in many, she was sure; she didn't want to be one of them. _He's at my mercy. He can't do anything. He's our captive_. She looked at his eyes once again, remembering what Margaery had told both her and Brienne once about that being a sign of confidence — but she felt the need to look away immediately. His eyes were irritated; not scared or resigned or anything she was used to seeing, just irritated. At _what_? It was like he was appraising her and found her lacking. She didn't like it.

"Why were you tracking us?" She asked once more, and on receiving no response once again, she stood to leave. He hadn't touched the food. They'd only given him bread and stew, but he  didn't look likely to eat it. "It'll be taken away if you don't eat it. My Lord."

She climbed back up, feeling foolish for thinking she'd be able to take on the task of coaxing information from Tywin Lannister. She shook her head at Margaery as she looked at her. "He's not answering at all, he's just mocking me. Us." She said. Brienne gave her a concerned look.

"Are you certain you want to do it, Sansa?" She asked. Sansa bit her lip, then nodded. It had only been one day. She had to stay calm even when he was mocking them. He'd not been on their ship for even a day, he wouldn't break just yet. She had to wait. She could do it.

"I'm certain." She said, giving Brienne as reassuring a smile as she could.

All the same, she spent most of the day and night slightly nervous at the thought of having to try and question him again. _It's only been one day_ , she told herself. She couldn't give up after just one attempt, that would be foolish. And Sansa was not a fool. She would find out what the crown wanted with them, why they'd sent Tywin Lannister to find them. She was determined she would do it; all the same, by the next morning she felt nervous enough that she could barely eat.

If this had happened in the first few days she'd joined the ship, she'd have said it was because she wasn't yet accustomed to being on a ship all day. In fact, it was the first time Sansa had been on a ship at all, and the sailing, the constant knowledge of being on the water, it had made her uncomfortable. It had faded over time, but she remembered clearly the embarrassment of vomiting her lunch into the sea, to the amusement of both her sister and Margaery, and then keeping to her cabin feeling slightly sick for the rest of the day.

She was used to the water now. That wasn't why her stomach was upset today. Mayhap her moonblood was due soon; that would explain it. She always felt a little uncomfortable when it was to come in a few days. (It was so odd that she _wanted_ her moonblood.)

When the sun was at the highest and she'd had some bread and some of the sweet berries she'd preferred in the way of lunch, she got the food she was to give their prisoner, and went down to the hold. Over her shoulder she saw Dany, who was out with her dragons today, give her an encouraging smile. She smiled back, and tried to get rid of the nervousness.

When she entered the hold with his food, she saw that the plate from yesterday had already been cleared away. She knew they'd have just left it here to rot and choke him with the stench of bad food if he hadn't eaten it, which meant he had. Somehow that felt like a small victory.

"Weren't there two of you?" Lord Tywin asked as she set the food on the floor. "Eddard Stark had two daughters."

"Were you trying to find us?" She asked, changing the question to see if this would yield any response from him.

"My daughter let both the Stark girls escape." He said, sounding irritated and disappointed — at Cersei. Sansa almost wanted to laugh. "The other one, how old was she? Ten? Eleven?" He was close; Arya was eleven now, and when she had escaped, she had been nine. Sansa didn't want to think of what she must have done or gone through for nearly two years before she'd found Dany's ship. "Escaped the city. She must be dead now, lying in a ditch somewhere." He said. He was trying to mock her, but it wasn't working. Sansa knew where Arya was; above, on deck, trying to play with the dragons and _not_ have them snort and fly away. The dragons never attacked her, but when she joined the ship Arya had very little hair, so she had assumed that the ends of her hair had gotten singed at least a little, at least once.

"You're wrong about Arya." She said, then, "What would the crown want with one pirate ship that stays away from the Seven Kingdoms?"

They always stayed away from any of the ports in Westeros. It was safer that way. Dany was a Targaryen, the last one, and everyone knew that if anyone found out about her they'd kill her immediately. Margaery was the heir to house Tyrell; Sansa didn't know how she'd come aboard _Meraxes_ , but she did know that if they were found, if she was recognised, she would probably be sent back to Lord Tyrell and eventually have to marry into a lower house — something which Margaery had said repeatedly that she would hate more than _anything_ — and would ruin the name of House Tyrell.

Brienne was the daughter and heir to the lord of a small island north of Shipbreaker Bay, Tarth. She knew if they were found, she'd be caught and made more a fool of; Brienne had told her that she'd been subject to many embarrassments being of her stature and skilled with a sword as she was, and as ladies were not to be. A younger, stupider Sansa would have been horrified at seeing Brienne, a lady who was more like a knight, but that was stupid. Brienne was the kind of knight she'd heard of in the tales. Of course, now she was a pirate.

Melisandre was a red priestess all the way from Asshai. She kept saying something about Dany and some old priest or someone reborn. Sansa didn't know much about Melisandre except that she didn't like Arya much, and stayed in her chambers most of the time. Sansa had seen another red priest in King's Landing, Thoros of Myr, but his God wasn't much heard of in Westeros. Cersei would give her over to the Faith, who'd keep her captive or destroy her.

And herself and Arya; they were fugitives. After their father's death, Sansa had become a captive of the Lannisters, and Arya had escaped. She didn't know how she'd escaped, but she did know that she'd travelled north and north and north until she'd come across Brienne, and then they'd joined Dany and Margaery — who'd recognised Brienne — in some small village port near the Neck. Arya had convinced Dany to come south for her to King's Landing; the only time they'd risked all their lives docking in the harbor at King's Landing.

Arya had come for her with Melisandre, pretending to be a mother and son from Essos, both devoted to the Red God, to show those in Westeros the glory of R'hllor. They'd stolen away in the night after Melisandre had started some fire that half the Keep had set to putting out or watching, and then Dany had sent Viserion flying, causing even more commotion as people screamed they'd seen a dragon. They'd sailed far enough away that they couldn't be found before dawn. Sansa hadn't been able to believe she was finally free.

Lord Tywin wasn't responding once again. Sansa frowned at him, then tried again; "What did you want with us?"

"Is she here, too? The other Stark girl?" He huffed. "Dragons, wolves, fugitives and Dothraki wastrels. You make a poor crew. The only reason you're victorious against anyone is the dragons." Sansa glared at him, then stood to leave.

In a way, he was right. Their crew was primarily Dany's dothraki guard (bloodriders?). It was mostly women, a lot of them slaves freed from other ships they'd come across. They were all very loyal to them, but not a lot of them were able fighters, even if they were good crewmen and could navigate the waters easily. The dothraki didn't do very well on water, and they were quite upset at not having horses; she'd heard them complaining once. The few fighters they did have included a handful of Unsullied Dany had freed sometime. Sansa didn't know the story.

"Why were you tracking us?" She asked a final time, and on receiving only silence, she left.

Every day it was much of the same; she'd ask him questions and he'd attempt to anger her by talking about things that were painful for her, different things each time. He said something of her mother, once, sending her son back to him in exchange for her, but Sansa had already left the Landing. He said something of her father's beheading, but he also said it was foolish on Joffrey's part. He talked about her brother, Robb, the King in the North, then her other brothers, Bran and Rickon. Eventually he simply sat there, saying nothing at all. She'd ask him the same questions in an endless cycle.

 _Why were you following us? What do you want with us?_ Were _you following us? Why would the crown send Tywin Lannister to stop some small pirate ship? Who sent you here?_

He wouldn't respond. Brienne asked her if she wanted her to go instead, if this was bothering Sansa, but Sansa only felt more useless than ever; it was stupid to think she could do this.

But the next day she only went down again, and asked him the same questions, and got no answers from him.

-

Nearly a moon later, he broke.

"Why would they send you to stop us?" She asked him, expecting his usual silence. She'd taken to waiting no longer than a few seconds after she'd asked the question, so sure that she'd get either no response at all, or some kind of taunt or jab. Today, though, as she turned to make her way up the stairs, one more day a disappointment, he'd spoken.

"Because my daughter is a stubborn fool." She frowned, turning around to look at him. His voice was a bit dry with disuse, and unclear. He cleared his throat once, coughing. The hold was damp and cool at all times. It was also cramped and dirty. Was he falling ill? It wouldn't do to have their prisoner fall ill, as they had no maester and no one to make sure he was well.

"What?" She asked. He'd said many times that Cersei was a fool, but never in _this_ context. What did he mean? He glared at her, his mouth resolutely shut, but she waited. _Only a few moments_. He'd said this much, it was possible he'd say more. It had been the first time he'd answered her questions at all.

"I am the Hand of the King." He said eventually, and she frowned, wondering what this had to do with anything. "I have more power than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms save the King himself, even her. It ate at her, not being the most powerful. _I made her queen_. She doesn't know what to do with that. Joffrey is no better than her, but he's terrified of me, far more than his mother. At the first chance he saw to send me away, he issued a command with the seal of the crown, saying I was to hunt down the pirates and sink their ship. They'll come looking." He said the last words as if they were a threat, and she scoffed. It had been so long; if anyone was coming to find them, they would have a long time back.

"If they're looking near the Dornish sea, they won't find us. We're nowhere near there now, we're —" _Stupid_. She bit down on her tongue. Gods, that was a near thing. While he couldn't send a message in any way, not here, not trapped as he was, they couldn't take any chances. He couldn't know anything, Sansa knew that. "What was the chance they saw? To send you away? I know the crown doesn't care about pirates unless they're posing a direct threat or are caught in the capital." Either of which they were not, Sansa knew that as well.

"There were rumours about a pirate ship with dragons, or the Targaryen girl. Or both. Either way, we were to find it, sink it, and if we found the Targaryen girl, kill her." He said, crisp and clear. She pursed her lips, nodding. It wasn't surprising that they were looking for Dany.

She turned away, ready to go to Ser Barristan, Dany, and tell them this. They needed to make it seem, somehow, that the rumors of the pirate ship with dragons was just that; a rumor. They could make the stories even worse, like there were seven dragons, or that it was Dany transforming into a dragon. The more ridiculous they were, the more likely people wouldn't believe it. If no passing ships that they _weren't_ plundering saw Dany, and they spread the word through all ports they landed on... Sansa bit her lip. They could fight off a single ship easily enough, but even three dragons wouldn't win them a fight against the crown's entire naval fleet.

"Does it make you feel powerful?" Lord Tywin suddenly asked, and she turned in confusion. What was he talking about? He was looking at her with a sudden intensity that was quite different to his usual cold irritation. "Having me at your mercy?" She opened her mouth, then shut it again, not entirely sure how to respond. It had grown on her, in a way; his inability. He was trapped, a prisoner, to them. After the first three or four days she'd questioned him, she'd finally managed to make herself understand that he threatened her in no way. He was trapped, in chains. All he could do was mock her. All he had was words. "Well, let me tell you something, _girl_. You're a fool if you believe you have any sort of power over me, or have any chance of victory against the crown. You may have held me captive for this long," he paused, looking at her with a hint of victory in his smile. "But a Lannister always pays his debts."

When Cersei said it, it had sounded like a promise, something good. But that had been at the very beginning, when she hadn't known anything about who these _lions_ truly were. When Lord Tywin said it, it sounded a threat.

"What part of this makes you think you're in control?" She asked, lowering her voice the way she'd heard Dany and Margaery do, like she was mocking him. The look on his face didn't show any kind of intimidation, though; he probably did that all the time, too, to others. But she wasn't just _trying_ to be intimidating, trying to make it seem she was more in charge than she was. It was true. Lord Tywin had very little power here, he had nothing he could do, no one he could ask for help. He was trapped, and powerless, and he had no control on anything that happened here, not even to him.

"Information." She frowned (but he'd just told her everything?) and he continued. "For this long I've kept myself safe by withholding information. You needed me alive. Today I told you one little thing and you believe that I've told you everything. All the crown's secrets. You do need me alive, girl, if only for more information. I _control_ my tongue, my actions, and my life." Sansa bit her tongue. _More information?_ He was right, though, as loath as she was to admit it. Lord Tywin was Hand of the King, he knew everything. All the crown's secrets, as he'd said. But what secrets? They were only pirates, and very little of the Seven Kingdom's war concerned them. Unless the crown knew something about _them_ , or wanted to stop them, wanted them back to become bargaining chips in their wars once more...

"We could kill you right now. You've told us all we needed to know." She argued, trying to keep her voice level, and he smiled.

"Perhaps I've answered your questions, but I have not told you all you need to know."

"Maybe, but they don't know that. And I don't think you're telling the truth. Lannisters lie. I could kill you all on my own, and not even tell them. I could tell them you tried to attack me so I attacked back. You don't control anything." She said, not half-believing the words coming from her own mouth. Her mother would be furious; Lady Catelyn had raised her daughter to be a noble lady, and young ladies did not speak as such. Kill him? What had possessed her to say something like that? She swallowed, though, trying to keep the slight horror and confusion her own words had brought her from showing on her face. He didn't need to see that she didn't truly mean that.

Though... she _could_ do it. Sansa wasn't a lady anymore. She was a pirate. Not a lower noble's daughter or the daughter of a landed knight or a noble's bastard. She was worse than even the smallfolk. She was dangerous. A pirate. That was what pirates did. She'd heard the stories, of the _Hag's Teeth_ , a pirate ship captained by a Lady Korra in Essos, with only females in their crew. They gelded any men that they came across, and it didn't matter that it wasn't ladylike or appropriate. They were pirates, as was she. And she'd seen Arya and Brienne training, and they could be as dangerous as any man with a sword, and they were both born highborn ladies of noble houses in Westeros.

"I'd like to see you try." Lord Tywin said, smiling like he already knew

Sansa kept a dagger on her person at all times, as Margaery had instructed her to do. _It isn't always safe here, sweetling_ , she'd said, and made sure she kept a small knife with her always. She could stab him with it, and he'd bleed out. She moved closer to him, hand on the stitched pocket in her skirt, where she kept the dagger, ready to pull it out. She could do this. He was almost daring her to, looking at her like he didn't believe she could. She glared at him, willing the amusement away from his eyes.

The dagger came out, the satisfied gleam in his eyes did not fade. She raised it up in the air, like she'd heard knights doing in stories, and he closed his eyes.

Sansa stopped.

 _Gods, she was so stupid._ He wanted this. He wanted her to attack him; he was old, and he was probably becoming ill in the hold here, and he'd been here for over a moon. Lord Tywin was not a fool, he knew no one was coming for him. He'd said so himself, Cersei and Joffrey were both glad to have sent him away. Even if Cersei did eventually send someone to look for him, it would take too long. He was goading her because he'd already told her the only thing keeping him alive, and he wanted her to kill him, quick and easy so he wouldn't have to suffer. Or suffer more.

"You _want_ this." She said accusingly, and his smile faded. "You want me to kill you."

"Go ahead, girl. Do it." He growled, and she shook her head, moving away from him. He was glaring at her now, clearly irritated that she'd figured it out. Somehow she also felt oddly proud of herself, and even a little awful. For him. After all this, she felt bad for him, like he deserved sympathy from her, or anyone. She'd heard of what Lord Tywin had done, and there had been some truly horrible things. And he'd led battles against her brother, too, and had children killed. (And yet... she'd never seen anyone who truly hated their father. Who would _want_ to send their father away?) She opened her mouth to say something, and his eyes changed, his whole demeanor changed. "I will _not_ have pity from you." He growled, and she frowned and stepped back.

"I'm not feeling pity for you."

He looked like he was considering something, and then, frowning at her, he reached out a shackled hand and grabbed her breast. She watched ( _watched_ ) his hand go the entire way, then, as if suddenly seeming to realise what he was doing, pulled away. "What are you _doing_?" She asked, pulling away. "You're not attacking me, I know that, you're just trying to make me angry. That won't work now, I'm not _stupid_."

"Are you certain?" He asked, this time grabbing her behind and pulling her close to him. Her knees were on top of his legs now, and in her position, she looked down at him, his face inappropriately close to her breasts. She could see it, the lust in his eyes that she'd come to recognise from seeing so much in the eyes of other pirates and even on occasion others on the ship. But it wasn't the same. She knew what he was doing, and it wasn't from lust.

"Yes, you're not even enjoying it, see?" She asked, grabbing his other hand and moving it to her the spot between her legs, over her skirts. Gods, she wasn't the lady she'd been once at all anymore, was she? A younger her would have been so ashamed of her, acting like she was a whore. She'd not even ever laid with a man, nor Margaery, really. They'd only, once (twice), when Margaery had wanted to experiment with her, but Margaery had seemed so experienced, like she'd done it before, if only with her fingers.

He _moved_ his fingers where she'd placed his hand, and she felt it even through her skirts. She bit down on her tongue to stop herself from groaning and moved away from him. She clenched and unclenched her fists, shaking the feeling of his fingers _there_ , if not directly. She glared at him, looking him directly in the eye as she couldn't the first day, and felt like he knew she was telling him to pretend the last minute or so had never happened.

"What kind of pirate are you, _my lady_ , if you can't kill an old man and a prisoner?" He asked, and she glared at him.

"You're not going to goad me into killing you, I won't do it." She said, turning away, hiding her increasingly reddening face in the darknses. She moved away from him and towards the stairs leading out of the hold once again, feeling odd between her legs, uncomfortable.

"If you don't do it, the others will. Your captain can't be fond of me, or keeping me alive, and I've already outlived my usefulness." Tywin called after her, and she shook her head. He was right, though. They would, they'd want to let him go, send him overboard perhaps, or feed him to one of the dragons. She blinked as she entered the brighter light after spending so long in the darkness of the hold. She didn't want him to die, that would feel too much like he'd won. That was what he _wanted_. She wasn't going to, going to... torture him, or anything. But he wanted to die, and she wouldn't give him that victory. She didn't think Dany would see it that way, though.

"You were in there for a long time, Sansa," Brienne said, looking concerned.

"He answered me." She said simply, then signalled for her to lead the way to Dany's cabin. Margaery was already inside, as was Arya. Melisandre wouldn't join them, she knew. When Ser Barristan had been called, she told them of what Tywin had told her, that the crown had heard of a pirate ship captained by a Targaryen, Dany, and of a ship with dragons. (All except what he'd said at the end. No one need know of any of that.) ~~~~

"We'll be landing at Lys soon." Margaery said. "We can spread it there. The pirate ship with the mad Targaryen woman who transforms into a three-headed dragon every night. Lots of Lyseni trading ships make their way to Westeros, and sailors gossip more than any. It'll be a seven-headed half-man half-dragon soon enough." Arya laughed.

"Have we any further use for Lannister?" Dany asked Ser Barristan. "We can't trade him for safety, they'd only take him and then kill us."

"We should send him overboard." Ser Barristan said.

"We could feed him to Rhaego." Dany said musingly. Sansa looked out of the cabin at what she could see of the sky. She thought of what had happened in the hold, what he'd said, what she'd done. It was stupid. It really was. And it was much safer, in a way, and a far more sensible course of action to kill him. He was useless now, he'd said so himself. Everything he'd said about more information was likely a lie, part of his attempt to make her kill him in irritation. He must really have thought her stupid; and she'd fallen for it, too.

What did that make her?

"Actually," Sansa said, surprising everyone. Margaery raised her eyebrows at her in that questioning way of hers, and Sansa felt herself turn a little pink, embarrassed. She looked at the floor, then back at Daenerys. "Can I keep him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading that mess of some kind of AU and 100% OOC-ness (especially towards the end what even was that I'm so so sorry).
> 
> Any sort of feedback is great.


	4. Tutor - Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin is Sansa's tutor. Sansa doesn't want the tutoring to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as the that is ridiculously fluffy OR the one that my mind forced me to write while the other one my mind is still thinking of completes itself. Somehow.

Sansa handed in the paper and sat back, leg tapping nervously against the floor as she prepared for a long wait.

If he was right, and most of the time he _was_ , then this would be the last paper she wrote for Professor Tywin. He'd told her that if she scored above 90, then she no longer needed to come to him for tutoring. Which meant she was torn between scoring below 90 and disappointing him (again) or above, and disappointing herself.

Gods, that was silly. She was being silly. She shouldn't be _disappointed_ that she was doing better in Economics than she ever had, or that Professor Lannister himself thought that she didn't need his help anymore. In fact, ending these tutoring sessions would mean she had hours more of free time every week, considering how long she at his house, seated at the same desk, going over macro-economics like she had nothing better to do. So why would she even _want_ these sessions to continue? So she could continue to see Mr. Lannister?

Well, yes.

That was exactly it. It was strange, and probably really wrong as well, considering he was like three times her age, and came into no category of appropriate men she should like. Though, really, considering her past choices (read: Joffrey, kicks puppies for kicks, and Loras, unfortunately into dicks), it wasn't like she was the most adept at choosing the right person to like. All the same, she did like Mr. Lannister. Quite a lot.

How in _seven hells_ had that happened?

Though, it wasn't like it really mattered. He would never like her back. He'd never loved (or probably even liked) anyone since his wife had passed, years ago when their last son was born. It was awful, and really quite sad, and, in a way, as mortifying as it was, part of the reason she liked him. It was romantic. In an Oldstones sort of, Duncan and Jenny sort of way, never loving anyone else, that sort of thing. It was sweet, of course, but she knew that Mr. Lannister would be furious if she even mentioned something like that to him. She could even imagine his face, fuming, looking almost like steam was going to erupt from his ears. If Mr. Lannister was anything, he was not romantic. He was strict and brilliant and realistic and really horrible, too, and the best professor of Economics you would find in all of King's Landing, possibly all of Westeros, but he was not a romantic.

In fact, it was this reputation he'd built for himself that had made her quite unwilling to want to be tutored by him in the first place. That had been silly, too, really, but she'd been a bit afraid of him.

Economics had always been her worst subject, but she had chosen it and she was determined to do well. Eventually. Somehow. Except her consistent 65% averages were hurting her overall grade. And the resident lecturer at Baelor's, Cersei Baratheon, was not helping this. Honestly, Sansa thought Cersei was grading her down on purpose because she didn't like her, remnant of her short-lasted relationship with Joffrey, Professor Baratheon's son. Of course, no one (her father) wouldn't believe that and thought she needed outside help in Economics. She'd even suggested asking someone in class for help with it, like that girl who never got below 90, Brienne, or even Arya's friend, Gendry, who didn't do too badly either.

Except Dad had mentioned it to his childhood friend, Mr. Baratheon, AKA the President of Baelor's, who, despite even her dad's arguments against it, had gone and asked his father in-law, Professor Lannister, the best economics professor in the _country_ , to give her private tutoring. So, obviously, she'd not wanted to accept at first. He was scary himself, with all his glaring, and he was Mrs. Baratheon's father, and his reputation was frightening.

Only, at that point Mr. Baratheon had called Mr. Lannister, her dad, and herself all into the same room and broken the news. She couldn't say no even though she had really, really wanted to.

At first she'd not liked it, especially because he was almost constantly telling her to stop being an idiot and _use her brain_ , even though to her it had felt like she was using her brain. Eventually she got used to his brash way of speaking, and, maybe it had even helped her a bit. He was much clearer than Mrs. Baratheon ever had been, and when he marked her below what she expected from a paper, he marked all the mistakes and told her where she was going wrong.

So Sansa improved. And then she improved some more.

And now her grade was much better, and she was going well enough under his tutelage to not need it anymore, but she didn't _want to_ stop. Because she liked him. Gods, this was all just what she needed right now.

"Ms. Stark," Professor Lannister called, and she moved her chair closer to his so she could see her paper. As always, it was almost covered in red; there was a grammatical error marked there, and what she had a feeling was the wrong term used marked there, and all sorts of tiny mistakes that he didn't mark her down for, but never failed to point out. On top in a larger handwriting, circled, was a 93.

She'd done it. He almost looked pleased; though, of course, his face was his usual gruff sort of expression. He rarely ever smiled; he'd done it all of _once_ in the past three months, like it was so hard to smile.

"I got a 93?" She asked, and he nodded. "I — wow. Thank you, Professor Lannister." She cleared her throat. She didn't want to not come back, she'd almost, actually, miss him. That was silly, though. Just like her, she was being _silly_ , he wouldn't want to waste even more time on her. Weren't three months enough? She stood, placing the paper in her bag carefully, making sure not to let it crumple anywhere.

"You may go." He said, dismissing her, and standing to rise herself.

She turned to leave, then stopped. "Mr. Lannister," she started, turning around. _Please don't say no_. "Would you mind if I continued coming here? To be tutored? I'd like to, uh, improve some more. If you don't mind." He raised his eyebrows at her, and she raised her own back in question.

"If you wish." He said, sounding neither annoyed nor pleased about this. She turned around, hand clutching her bag, fighting the smile until she could wear it where he wouldn't see.

"Thank you, Mr. Lannister." She said, and left.

(At the door, she turned to look at him, and she could _swear_ she almost saw him smile.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading that. Excuse me while I go sit in a corner and mumble to myself about quality. Any sort of feedback is gold.


	5. Meaning - Artist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is an artist. Tywin is an art critic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have exactly 0% knowledge of anything art-related, so please excuse me.

Sansa twisted her hands around, watching everyone do their best to look pretentious and nod to themselves as they looked at the different paintings in the gallery. Well, _no_ , some of these people were probably (possibly?) people who actually knew something or the other about art and actually _were_ as pretentious as others were trying to look. Honestly, she had no idea. She couldn't differentiate one from the other any more than she could actually understand art when it wasn't her own.

Especially modern art and that _neo-pop_ display that they'd gone to; Gods, that almost frightened her a little bit. It was all a bit difficult and complicated, and, honestly, crowded. And, of course, half her family (Robb and Arya) had turned to her and asked her what it was supposed to mean; she should know, she was an artist herself. They didn't understand that it didn't work that way, of course they didn't. What was it supposed to mean? If anything at all? Why couldn't it just be splashes of paint on a canvas that gave an aesthetically pleasing final result?

She preferred realism a lot more, and that was made up the bulk of her work. Which everyone was looking at. It almost made her ill, the thought that the gallery was displaying _only her works_ today. It was bad enough having her paintings displayed in a place like Highgarden, the part where anyone who came in would see her work and her work only was frankly terrifying.

Speaking of terrifying — _Gods_

(she'd only been kidding, she didn't mean or want _actually_ terrifying, she wasn't _asking for this_ )

— it was Tywin Lannister.

As in father of the most narcissistic artist she'd ever met, reknown throughout all of Westeros, even in the barbaric North (as said most-narcissistic-artist-she'd-ever-met had taken great pleasure in calling it) for being the hardest art critic anyone would ever meet. If you got even one good comment from him, you sold out. Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but that was how she'd heard it. But Tywin Lannister was a legend for a reason. His reputation probably had a strong part in it; if he liked it, it was deemed good by _anyone_ who was interested in art at all. If you wanted to succeed, you impressed Tywin Lannister. And if he didn't like your work; well, then you failed. There was no other way to it.

He was looking at her paintings. In fact, he was looking at the one right at the entrance, the silly rosegirl one they'd decided to display right there where everyone could see it the minute they walked in the door, all because Highgarden was literally surrounded by roses, or represented by roses, or whatever. It wasn't even that good, and that was the first impression she'd make. A younger, flightier version of Sansa who thought it was some form of abstract surrealism had painted that. Margaery had taken one look at it and decided that they absolutely _had_ to have that displayed, oh, right by the entrance, it would be marvellous.

Yeah, marvellous. That was what she'd said.

Gods, Mr. Lannister didn't look happy. No, she was almost certain he was frowning. Should she... track him? She didn't want to make it obvious that she was following him around, if just to see what his facial expressions were, but she really did. She was new to the art world, and she didn't exactly want to be deemed unworthy by him before she'd even really begun, all because of a piece she'd done over a year ago.

She ought not to follow him around the gallery, even if it was just to make sure he didn't look like he thought coming here was a waste of his time. If she was a waste of his time — she dreaded to think. Sansa did not want to end up in the way of The Red Lion. The Red Lion, a Mr. Reyne something or the other, had been a famous art critic years ago, before she was even born, almost as influential as Tywin Lannister was now. Mr. Lannister had been quite young then, and new himself to the art world, and he'd completely destroyed The Red Lion's reputation.

There was some sort of scandal involving a painting about a red lion and another very similar one involving a golden lion. It was one for the stories, they said, but the exact details had never been delved into in what little she'd read and heard of. But Tywin Lannister hadn't just ruined his reputation in the art world, he'd effectively removed his name from it. Maybe it was just a few keystrokes away, but _everyone_ knew Tywin Lannister's name; and Mr. Reyne was only known as the Red Lion.

Oh, he looked less than pleased. He _still_ looked less than pleased. He'd clearly passed the wolf girl, the winter rose, the woman in the tower, and was looking at _Stone_ with little interest. _Stone_ was, in Sansa's opinion, one of her best works so far. Symbolically, as well as literally. Which made it a bit difficult to see him looking at it like _that_ (like he couldn't see the detail that had gone into it, how hard she'd tried to show that the two girls in the painting were _the same_ ).

"Isn't it... nice?" She asked, approaching him, and he frowned and turned his attention to her. She fought the urge to fiddle or shake her hands or something.

He gave a grumble with his throat. "Nice." He scoffed. She felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. "I can't make heads or tails of it. What is the artist attempting to show? Except for their hair colour and their facial expression, the girls look identical."

She bit her lip, and looked at it again. But... that was the point. They were the same girl; it wasn't about two girls being identical, it was about one girl being... two girls. _Ah_ , if she could just explain it properly. "That's what it's about! I think. The artist she's showing that they _are_ the same girl, just in different places. Like the second girl, the idea she represents, is just a part of the first, and the first is part of the second. Two sides of the same coin." She said, feeling oddly shaky.

Though, it was probably fine to be a bit shaky. While Sansa was ordinarily quite confident, anyone would get shaky in front of _him_.

Mr. Lannister frowned at her, then at the painting. At least he hadn't scoffed. She tried not to breathe out in relief, because he'd probably catch it. "If they're two sides of the same coin, why the hair? Why the tower?"

"The hair is to show that she isn't supposed to be the same person. When she's not in the tower, she's free. When she's trapped, she _can't_ be the girl she used to be before, so she has to change, but she's not fundamentally _different_ , she's just sort of becoming a different part of herself." Sansa said, hoping she made sense to him.

He gave her something like — was he

_(no)_ —

smiling?

Oh, no, he wasn't. His lips were turning up just a little bit, but that wasn't a smile. It was probably more like a very small smirk. And if it was a smile, it was the smug kind, not the pleased kind or even the amused kind. Sansa's stomach dropped some more.

"It's a valiant effort, Ms. Stark." He said, and her eyes widened. _Hells_. He knew who she was, which just made her look pathetic. Well. Obviously he knew who she was; she hadn't exactly tried to hide it in her obvious defense of her painting. "But you had to explain it to me. Good art explains itself, it forms its own defense. The artist does not need to put it into words."

She licked her lips, then nodded. She supposed she saw what he meant. It did make sense in a way. "So, I should try to make the concept of it more clear?" She asked, looking nervously between the painting and him. "Is this the only one that's not clear, though? I mean, _The Tower_ is fairly self-explanatory, and _Winter_ is kind of obvious too, right?" He turned to Winter, a portrait of a human-sized blue rose lying wilted on a bed.

"Clear, but they're not yours. The story of the Winter Rose is an old one, and has been captured by many artists of better ability than you have yet, Ms. Stark. As is _The Tower_. _Stone_ is new, and it is yours. Let your work define itself, and perhaps you'll do better."

She nodded. That was advice. Advice was good. _Do better_ meant it wasn't all that bad, right?

He walked away.

-

(The thing about Sansa was, she learned.) Mr. Lannister stood in front of the painting she was most proud of over a year since she'd last spoken to him. On the canvas in front of him, a lioness and a wolf were in identical posturing, and they both howled at the lion as he stalked over them, like he was circling his prey, but that wasn't what he was doing.

"Do you know what it means?" She asked Mr. Lannister.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please excuse any mistakes I've made. Any sort of feedback is welcome!


	6. Kitten - Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin is (retired and) walking Tommen's kittens when he runs into Sansa.

Tywin didn't know how many times he'd told Tommen that no, his kittens did _not_ need walking. Cats, he'd found, were perfectly self-sufficient creatures and did not need to be taken on a walk through the park. Tommen continued to insist that they did, and they must, and Myrcella continued to insist that Tywin be the one that take them.

Of all his grandchildren, while Joffrey may be the most headstrong (verging on the kind of stubborn that made one an idiot), Myrcella was without doubt the one who could get things done. She wasn't willful, she was strong. She wasn't whiny, didn't complain, did as she was told, knew what was best for her most of the time, and _used her brain_. She was also surprisingly good at coercion, and she had taken it upon herself to coerce him into taking Tommen's damned kittens for a walk every single day.

Like he had nothing better to do.

Well, that was a lie. Since his (he hated to even _think_ it) retirement, Tywin was finding himself increasingly without any activity. It was fucking ridiculous was what it was. _Retirement_. He was hardly old, he was perfectly active and his mind wasn't any less perfect than it had been years ago, when he'd first taken charge of Casterly. All the same, the same rules that applied to his father applied to him, and at 60, he had been forced into retirement. While he didn't fear for the company (yet; Genna and Kevan were responsible enough and knew how he worked. He feared for Casterly once his children had to take charge) he did fear for himself.

Tywin's whole life had been work. He'd been pushed into responsibility from a rather young age, given his father's unruly behaviour and tendency to take things too easily, including debts.  While he'd tried to help his father even before, he'd been rather woefully unable to because of the general laughter that greeted him, then just a child, everytime he tried to speak of it, even if he talked good sense. He'd started working in the company as soon as he'd turned eighteen. Tytos Lannister had brought down Casterly, and Tywin had raised it to what it had once been, and higher.

But, as Kevan had said to him repeatedly in the last few months, what was Tywin outside Casterly? Yes, he had his children. But Cersei was married and had children of her own; Jaime was an ex-soldier and spent most of his time doing Gods-alone-knew-what and _ignoring_ most or all of his social and familial obligations; and Tyrion — Tywin was much happier not knowing. Tyrion was the only one of the three who worked at Casterly, and while he'd heard a few good things of his work there, he didn't quite trust that any glowing report he'd heard from any employee was not simply false praise for his son in a misguided attempt to increase his opinion of said employee.

And, as both Kevan _and_ Genna had said repeatedly in the last few months, Tywin did not have a social life. Which meant that now that he could not work in Casterly anymore, he had, effectively, very little to do. Suggestions he'd received from his siblings included (but were not limited to) meddling in his childrens lives, taking up a hobby, starting a collection of some sort, and taking the kind of vacations he'd never had time for while he worked. Ridiculous.

Eventually, Genna had gone to Jaime who'd asked Cersei who had convinced Robert to _let_ him stay with them for a while. When he'd disagreed (firmly, and absolutely; he did not need to go live in Robert Baratheon's fucking guestroom. He was retired, not bankrupt), she'd foisted her children onto him, saying it would give him something to do. And so it happened that Tommen and Myrcella had spent the last two weeks coming straight from school to his new apartment, spending a few hours there doing homework, watching TV and the like, then going to bed in the rooms he'd had modified to suit them.

Well, living with him.

It was a temporary arrangement, Cersei assured him, only until he was more used to his more inactive life, and having children around would do wonders for him.

And now this. _Walk Tommen's kittens_ , indeed. Unfortunately for him, the kind of glare that would reduce half his employees to mewling _children_ had no effect whatsoever on Myrcella, who had simply handed him the leash and told him to enjoy himself ( _enjoy himself?_ ).

Which was why Tywin was currently in the park near his building, holding onto a leash hosting three kittens, like he had nothing better to do than walk three cats that didn't even need to be walked. The grey one in the middle, he'd found, was particularly adventurous, and kept trying to run farther than the leash would allow it. The darkest one kept stopping to play with the third, and it resulted in him having to watch the cats rather than watch where he was going, which was likely in circles.

He checked his watch again; fifteen minutes past five. He'd only been at the park for all of ten minutes. Myrcella had told him not to be back for at least half an hour; while he _could_ return sooner than that, he had a feeling his grandchildren were reporting back to his siblings, and he'd rather not have Genna on his back telling him not to be so irritable every week.

The grey cat stretched out too far for its leash, and, at being snapped back as the white one pulled the other way, made a loud angry noise. Tywin glared at it ineffectively, and narrowly avoided stepping on the dark one as it ran for his legs. In stepping back, he crashed into someone, and clenched his teeth. "Watch where you're going." He barked.

"Mr. Lannister?"

He looked up. _Oh_. It was Sansa Stark. Eddard Stark's daughter, and Joffrey's ex-girlfriend, if he remembered correctly. She was holding a large dog on a leash, looking far more comfortable with her dog than he was with Tommen's cats.

"Ms. Stark." He said in way of greeting. He'd seen her often when she'd been dating Joffrey, as the boy had insisted on bringing her to family functions, and as Ned Stark's daughter they moved in similar circles since he'd started working with Robert. He couldn't say he'd ever spoken to her, though, but for a few empty pleasantries. From what he could tell (and Cersei's many tirades) she was silly and dull underneath her rather vibrant appearance.

"I, uh, nice to meet you." She said immediately, and he nodded. "Are those — your cats?" His cats. He shook his head, resisting the urge to grit his teeth, then in the most politely friendly tone he could muster, said,

"They're Tommen's."

"Oh, yeah, Myrcella told me they were staying with you for a while." Ah, a friend of Myrcella. That was just what Tywin needed now, to run into someone who would speak with his granddaughter. She giggled completely unnecessarily, then signalled towards the kittens. "Did she make you walk them?"

_Make him walk them?_ (That was a fair bit more insightful than he'd expect or like.)

"She does that sometimes. It's not a bad thing, though, she can be _very_ convincing, and she never really means anyone harm, I think." She said, then shrugged. "I come here to walk Lady everyday, so I guess I'll see you around, Mr. Lannister."

That implied that he'd be required to walk Tommen's kittens again, with any sort of regularity. He'd tolerated Myrcella's insistence once, he would not do it again. Tywin had (absolutely no) better things to occupy his time with, and he'd be damned if he gave in to his granddaughter's silly ideas of what could help him. It didn't even matter if she was reporting back to Genna.

He gave her a curt nod, turned to walk away, then paused. _I come here to walk Lady everyday?_ "Ms. Stark." He said, and turned to face her.

"Uh, yes?" It was a ridiculous idea, of course. It might even get back to Myrcella. All the same, it could save him some time and a lot of his sister's nagging.

"How do you feel about earning some money? You'd only have to walk Tommen's kittens for me. Perhaps everyday."

"I — really? Like, what, pet sitting? And you'd pay me just to walk the cats?"

"And keep it from Myrcella, of course." He said, and she gave him a wide, amazed sort of smile. He fought to keep from smiling himself, feeling rather smug.

"Yes! Yes, that would be great! I'm here around the same time everyday, so if you ever need me, you can probably find me down here. Or you could have my number." She said, digging into her bag, and he nodded, accepting the piece of paper with a hastily scribbled-on number she proferred to him.

When he returned with the kittens, Myrcella was on him immediately.

"Thank you so much, grandpa! You have no idea how much homework I had, or I'd have done it myself." Then she paused, looking slyly at him with an expression far too much like one of Cersei's. "Could you maybe do it again tomorrow?"

He nodded, and watched as her expression faltered for a second, likely expecting him to say no. "If I must." In his pocket sat a paper with Sansa Stark's number on it. How convenient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing I just find this so amusing.  
> Also I'm on vacation without internet mostly so new AUs are unlikely.


	7. Aid - Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion observes Sansa in trouble at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly inspired by various works including (but probably not limited to) Game of Stacks by CommaSplice, Stannis Baratheon Fantasy Football Commissioner by ikkiM, and His Girl Friday by Telanu.

From the corner of his eye, Tyrion spotted Sansa being towed by her rather rambunctious younger sister to where Father seemed deep in conversation with Jaime's new girlfriend, she of awesome height. Since the beginning of Jaime's and Brienne's relationship, his father had been extremely interested in knowing more of Brienne. For some reason that continued to escape Tyrion, Father had accepted since the accident that Brienne was, in fact, The One for Jaime, and was seemingly taking no steps to change this situation. Of course, it was considerably better than him thinking forever that Jaime was gay. Or his finding out that he was in love with and occasionally fucking his sister.

On the other side of the room, Cersei shot daggers at Brienne with her eyes, as Cersei was wont to do everytime the two of them were in a room together. Tyrion would have liked to laugh, but his conversation partner, Stannis Baratheon, was far too serious about everything, and wouldn't take lightly to him laughing in between their grave discussion of the misuse of "text talk".

He redirected his gaze as Stannis said something about _even adults doing it now_ and nodded solemnly, pretending to be paying full attention. Ah, there Arya was, making introductions. Brienne was an excellent boxer, much like Jaime (in fact, there lied the story of how they'd met, one that he still hadn't been able to get from Jaime. He needed to work on that) and had obviously bedazzled Arya, who very likely wanted to learn to box as well. Sansa gave Brienne a polite smile, not particularly the type to be interested in boxing at all. And, unsurprisingly, there went Arya and Brienne, Brienne giving Sansa and Father a curt nod.

Sansa looked distinctly uncomfortable, as, no doubt, anyone would be on being left alone with his father for any period of time. Ouch. Tyrion ought to rescue her — but perhaps in a few minutes. He could call it revenge for the silly and frankly quite embarrassing prank she'd played on him the week before last. A few minutes ought to suffice, really.

Sansa had worked with Tyrion for the past few weeks on that play they were putting together, and while she only played a minor part she'd been very helpful in assisting with the arrangements. She was an efficient young girl, and quite charming in her polite way. While he'd known her since her unfortunate relationship with Joffrey, he'd only really seen her outside of the little circle of misery that his sister and his nephew had created for her while working on this play.

Needless to say, Joffrey and Cersei had given her enough misery for a lifetime, she deserved no more from the Lannisters. He really, really ought to go rescue her from his father. He looked towards Stannis, who was now frowning very deeply and directing a questioning look at him. _Shit._ Did he lose his cue to nod and say something like "I know, it's gotten intolerable!" again?

"Does Shireen do it, too?" He asked, and Stannis grumbled and launched back into his tirade.

Oh, good.

Tyrion looked around the room for Jaime, finding him speaking to Loras Tyrell, Loras Tyrell looking unsurprisingly smug and Jaime looking unsurprisingly confused. He willed his brother to look at him, staring at him intently. It was Loras who noticed, and told Jaime to turn around. Jaime did, and Tyrion looked towards where Tywin was still engaging Sansa in conversation (really, how much could Father have to talk about with a teenage, albeit intelligent and curious, girl?) and back at Jaime with an expression that, he hoped, clearly told Jaime to rescue Sansa.

"And she said that her mother did it too! Dangling participles! If this is what Selyse is teaching her own child, I shudder to think — "

"Stannis!" Jaime said very suddenly, and Tyrion frowned. Damn Jaime. Was it really that hard to get the message across? Honestly, sometimes his brother could be too thick for his own good. "Good to see you! How's Davos?" Stannis looked disgruntled for a second, and while he was responding to the question, Tyrion excused himself and slipped away.

Father and Sansa were still were now at the opposite end of the room, oddly enough. They seemed even farther away than they had been earlier. Tyrion shrugged, and headed towards them, smiling congenially enough for Sansa's benefit, if not for his father's. "Hello, dearest Father. Sansa." 

"Oh, Tyrion, hi. Uh, Mr. Lannister, Tyrion's the one who suggested the play. It was genius, really." She said, looking distinctly uncomfortable for a second before relaxing into a smooth smile. Ah, she must be so grateful to have him here, her very own knight in shining armour. Albeit a rather short one.

Father simply nodded gruffly at him, and Tyrion took that to mean — whatever Father would have it mean. "Sansa, Stannis was just asking after you. Apparently Shireen wanted to know something about knitting techniques or something of the sort? I'm not sure."

Sansa nodded and smiled politely at Tywin, who only looked at her with his usual expression, then gave Tyrion one brief look of his usual ill humour. Sansa followed him towards Stannis, briefly giving him a tiny expression that he assumed must be gratefulness. What else, after all, would one give their saviour, rescuing them from an awkward conversation with one of the worst and rather frightening conversationalists (when it didn't concern his business) Tyrion knew. Except for perhaps Stannis. Poor Sansa was far too polite to even shrug his father away politely. She must have been in his own personal hell, in a one-on-one conversation with his Father.

"You're welcome," he muttered as he left her next to Margaery Tyrell, one of Sansa's friends. She smiled at him and turned to face Margaery, and he smiled pleasantly on the inside as he walked away. A good deed.

-

"What were you asking me about earlier?" Jaime asked, cornering him, looking pained. Being trapped talking to Stannis about _grammar_ would do that to a person. Tyrion would laugh, but he knew he was partially responsible for Jaime being in that position in the first place. On the other hand, his brother probably deserved it.

"I was trying to tell you to rescue Sansa Stark from Father. She'd accidentally gotten trapped in a conversation with him." Jaime winced, having suffered through far too many of those himself, and likely nothing that was enjoyable. Gods knew Father liked and approved of Jaime a lot more than he did Tyrion, and yet Jaime didn't enjoy spending time with Tywin anymore than he did. 

"Did you help her out?" Jaime asked, and Tyrion nodded, looking around the room. He couldn't see her anywhere, but he presumed she and some of her friends might have disappeared — oh, there was Margaery Tyrell. Odd. He thought he could see her hair, next to her brother Jon; or was that his girlfriend? He'd met her once, rather a vibrant girl. He frowned and turned to Jaime, shrugging.

"I did. She couldn't have been more relieved to see me." He smiled.

He looked carefully around once more as Jaime nodded, and frowned. Odd. His father was nowhere to be seen either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on vacation and currently in the middle of the freaking forest, where it is freezing and I found 300 dead bugs in the hotel bathrooms overnight, so give me love.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
